Morning dew still clung to the walls of the cobblestone waiting room, even though the grass outside had been dry for nearly half an hour. The shade and cool air of the building seemed adapt at keeping moisture in, and anyone within the spectrum of observant could tell, as there were bits of mosses and moulds to be found living on the stone. Poor ventilation was an obvious quality in many of the rooms, and resulted in a notably earthy smell. It wasn't really bothering Xander, but there was little else to think about in the otherwise non-descript room. Beyond the greening cobble, the only thing else present besides the current occupant was a simple wooden bench anchored to the wall that served as an oddly comfortable bed the night before.

Already dressed in his typical dark leather armor and jeans, the swordsman in the room scoured his blade in the morning light. He had recently let his treasured, yet relatively new, blade in the hands of some sort of shop that offered both the goods and services required to place a magic gem in a weapon. After being allowed to feel the effects firsthand, he decided that the gold and trust was worth the result. But he wasn't one to assume the sword went undamaged after being in a shop for a day, so he poured his eyes over each measurable section, trying to pry a flaw from the nearly glowing steel. His focus was so great that the knocking from the door nearly shocked him enough to drop his Long Sword. Either he had been so focused that he simply didn't hear the approaching footsteps, or the figure responsible for the knock was simply very good at staying quiet, Xander wouldn't know, nor did he really care. The knock was a signal that the event was about to begin; the one he had signed up for the day before.

He had been out strolling yesterday, and found an old, dilapidated building sitting in what appeared to be a ghost-town of sorts. It hadn't been on any map he saw, but it clearly should have been. The building itself was practically in ruin, its size revealing more of the flaws that age and neglect had caused then the other buildings had been subjected to. Even in the run-down state it was currently in, imagination didn't have to stretch too far to project the majesty it once held. It looked rather circular from the outside, and though on the verge of crumbling, practically spoke to an individual, egging them to take a closer look. Not being busy at the time, Xander complied to this urge, and quickly found himself bounding up the stairs of what should be described as a rather sturdy looking violation of building codes.

The building itself had a feeling about it. It felt like battle, with passion, courage, strength, and valor. So thick was the air that greeted his lungs, swarming his mind with every struggle that ended well, that he was immediately required to call on the aid for support that a wall offered. It was beyond the content nagging of reminiscing, it was a near palpable sensation of what Xander pursued in life. It energized him, filling him with confidence and allowing him to move on from the topic of his last two fights, neither which turned out like he wanted. He felt on top of the world, untouchable, even divine. So it wasn't too hard for the hooded figure with a contract in hand to convince him to sign up for the fight that was to take place today. As soon as his name was sprawled out on the dotted line, the so-called Samurai felt the sensation vanish, and immediately realized he had been played. The terms of the fight was that the winner got to leave, and the losers would either die or be killed. In his previous mindset, he just assumed he would win so the terms didn't matter, but it was now clear that he would either be kill his opponents or watch them be killed in order to win; something that would bother him if he defeated them before the killing blow was to be made.

Yet his honor required him to keep his word if physically possible, and his signature on paper certainly fell into the realm of words that need be kept. It sat poorly with his values on not killing a downed foe, or someone incapable of fighting, but instead of hating whatever trickery took place to get him to sign the paper, Xander instead blamed himself for being so easily taken in by emotion and signing contracts without considering the consequence.

A morning meal was presented, along with plenty of water. He was told that everyone would be offered sustenance, as those in charge used to have debates on how much hunger affected each participant, and often led to many wins declared invalid, and it was now standard to offer food based on body type, size, and race. Most of the chatter was cut off though, Xander was too busy eating to care what some guy was talking about.

Later, he was lead to a central room, one obviously made for the event at hand. He passed underneath a large rusty iron gate that appeared as though it would be forever stuck in an open position before entering the field. There were no others just yet, but he expected they wouldn't have gone through all the pain to bring him here and feed him just to watch him stand alone in a field for awhile.

The setup was somewhat similar to what Xander had heard of colosseums; though this one in particular seemed considerably smaller then he had thought it should. Indeed, the rest of the building took up far more room then was considered normal, the various floors and rooms notably out of place for a building meant only for entertainment. Still, the field was pretty roomy, easily big enough for fifty men to stand shoulder to shoulder in the thin part of the oval. The stands were much more maintained than the rest of the building seemed to be, but there was no great crowd waiting for excitement and bloodshed. There seemed to be only a handful of watchers, perhaps thirty, relatively spread out among the seats. Most unexpectedly, the floor was not of a single flat surface comprised of sand or even grass or dirt. The cobble scheme extended out to the ring, with various sections of differing heights. It was also old; areas that were crumbling could be seen, and a notable deal of rubble lounged on the stone. Old and new bloodstains were present, and Xander even noticed that rubble from things not made of cobble had been brought in. There were wedges of tiles apparently pounded into old cracks and such, and the 'field' generally looked pretty rough.

He walked calmly towards the middle, standing on a white line closest to him after reaching the approximate middle. The white line was connected on either side to another line, creating a square within the platform in the middle. The white square was large, opposite sides being fifteen feet apart. It was fairly obvious that the sides were intended to be starting points. The Long Sword was pulled from its sheath, and the man and blade began waiting to see what they had signed themselves up for.

A painful jerking motion woke Boreas out of the blissful darkness of the abyss. His mind retreated from the darkness slowly, taking its sweet time to kick back into gear and catch up with his body. Another painful jerk wracked once more through his body, kick starting his mind a little more. At first, all that Boreas felt was disorientation, but eventually he realised that the disorientation was because his feet was in the air and his head was resting on the ground.

More pain wracked through his body and the duellist realised that his head wasn’t resting on the ground, it was moving. And judging by the painful scrapping on his shoulders and upper back, so was the rest of him. The source of motion became apparent as feeling returned to his elevated legs, bringing with it the tightly clamped sense of pressure on his shins.

With all the painful feelings and motions categorised, Boreas was finally free to realise he was being dragged. Alarm spread through the Duellist’s still sluggish mind, and he was just thinking about struggling when he was dragged over a rather large bump and wacked his head into a drifting, carefree frame of mind.

A rough voice spoke then, and Boreas’ drifting mind latched onto it like a drowning man latches onto a life raft. At first the words were fuzzy, but eventually they became clear enough for Boreas to follow the trail of conversation.

“...small bastard is heavy. Anyway, why is he ‘volunteering’ for this tournament again?”

Another voice, this one slightly smoother, answered, and Boreas got the idea that the speaker was wearing a very ugly sneer on his face. “Because, it’s a tournament, so no one would be suspicious of him joining. Unfortunately for him it’s too the death and he is far too soft hearted to kill the other fools who entered. Therefore...”

The voice was cut off as Boreas’ body was dragged over another large bump, and his head smashed once more onto the cold stone floor. This time, however, the pain was so great that the Duellist slipped back into the peaceful oblivion of the abyss.

Boreas woke suddenly, remembering the conversation as if he had just woken from a troubling dream. At first he thought it really was a dream, but then he realised he was in a bed, and he didn’t remember getting into any such bed to sleep. And he was pretty certain he would remember volunteering lying down on this mattress with such an uncomfortably lump that dug right into the middle of his spine.

The second thing that gave it away was that Boreas was fully dressed. And not just dressed, but also armed. And armed involved a large amount of hidden throwing knives that dug even more uncomfortable into various tender spots, meaning that the duellist could no longer lay in the bed without suffering unjustly. With a moan and a groan, Boreas dragged himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Looking around, the first thing the duellist’ noticed was a table that just happened to contain a plate full of steaming food. At this moment Boreas stomach growled rather forcefully at him, complaining that it was empty and ordering that he eat that food no matter how suspicious it might be. Not one to argue with himself, Boreas set upon the food with relish, ignoring the rest of the world for a little bit longer.

With the food finished and the grumbling stomach satisfied, Boreas looked around the room and noticed it was rather bland. He quickly moved to the door, and to his surprise found it to be unlocked. A turn of the latch and a slight push later and Boreas was standing at the end of a long, breezy corridor filled with bleak stone arches with doors made of rusty iron bars lining its side.

Curious as to his surroundings, Boreas walked slowly down the corridor, peering into each cage door as he passed them. Each one proved empty until the duellist reached the very last one before a particularly large set of wooden doors. A single cloaked figure stood in the deeper shadows behind the iron bars, looking out at the duellist from underneath the darkness of his hood.

Boreas stopped his walking and starred at the figure, waiting for it to speak. A long moment of uncomfortable silence passed between the two, until finally the silence got too thick for the cloaked stranger and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You brought this upon yourself.” The figure said in a low, almost regretful voice. “You really shouldn’t have tried to stop us.” With a sigh the figure raised one arm with its fist clenched, and causes the huge wooden doors in front of the duellist to open with much grunting of men and rattling of chains and gears.

Bright daylight flooded into the dark corridor, blinding the duellist. Boreas raised one arm over his face, covering his eyes as he stepped out into the brightness of the open world.

_________________Kylar, The Mercenary"Your mother was a hamster; and your Father smelt of Elderberries! Now, go away before I am forced to taunt you a second time!

"You have quite the reputation..." The man said in a low voice, behind his cloak. Hiding most of his face ever so carefully. A short little thing that had approached him in the dark, It was a courageous act indeed to meet Cerit in that Dark alley but he had a feeling the small creature was just ignorant. Stopping him right then and there around the corner where he was going to begin reeving the town to the ground. "Then why do you stand there? Moments away from death without even thinking about it..." Conjuring his coldest stare that his new eyes could produce. It was a tad insulting if anything that they were even starting this conversation. He didn't feel like killing this one though, he couldn't place his hand on it. His hunger was there but this... simpleton couldn't slack it, Cerit could tell just by looking at him. Even if he wasn't sure how he was judging.

"We.... we just want you to participate in a fight. A real throw down!Four men enter one man leaves. It'd be a real spectacle for our.... spectators if they could see a man with such a high body count fight." Cerit let the words roll through his mind very carefully. he sounded sure of himself but the weakness was right below the surface, waiting to be plucked out and shown to all. He pulled out his scythe carefully, easing it over his shoulder into both hands as he brought the blade to hang around the man's neck. "A fight? To what end? I can start my own fights just fine. I do it every day..." The fear peeked out from the man's eyes, a grin sliding across Cerit's face but it gave him less pleasure then normal, the horrid little man had hardly a sparkle in him, nothing powerful at all. He looked squirmy as he felt the cold blade slide across his skin. Cerit couldn't see but it probably broke the flesh. "J-just do it now!" He yelled suddenly. A surrender? No. Impossible.

Eyes wide open, eyes tight shut. Cerit pulled his scythe back and put his boot to the man but before he could rip his head from his shoulders something big and blunt took him in the back of the head. He turned quickly to swing a punch but he noticed that they brought more then a few friends... no guards for once, which was nice. The looked like ordinary thugs. "Why is he still up? Get him!" The man from behind yelled, everyone of them taking the chance to pile on and beat him senseless. "Too bad, thought we could get him to accept." The smug bastard suddenly gaining his composure is the last thing to ring in his ears before the nightmares began again.

When they ended he wasn't totally sure where he was. It stank of dampness and fresh bread, pushing the thought of food away as usual. "Prison?" No it was far too old. And normally he didn't get a nice bed like the other inmates. It was dark but he could see the magic shimmer of the obsidian jewel in his scythe. Reaching out and using it as a walking staff. Making his way to the door, dim light coming from below the crack. He opened it wide to discover it wasn't lock. "Not trying to keep us in... must be time for the show." He spoke sullenly to himself.

Walking out into the lonely hall with stones that tapped so loudly under his hard soles. In no rush as he steps out into the .....arena? It was an odd sight to be sure. Mossy stone stacked in a seemingly random fashion around the room making it a bumpy floor at best. He hopped up a few, instinct telling him to jump up to the highest point as he looked about, wasn't all that height but it stood a good bit over the one standing in the middle. Once he was satisfied with his height he took a seat, feet hanging off the edge as he stared out into the whispering crowds. Scythe dangling from his hands , threatening to drop and make a dreadful racket. Shifting from each person in the crowd carefully then to the two below. The fun was already starting?

His eyes widened suddenly, nostrils flare and take a deep inhale. "What... is that smell..." He pronounced from the diaphragm. It came drifting up from the man in the center holding the blade. He could see something off about the blade itself but he, he was.... intoxicating? No... hypnotic. Watching the man in dark leather waiting as the second combatant walked out, blinded by light as he stepped out. Each movement making Cerit more and more tense. Wound up light a snake ready to strike. His hands gripped the scythe roughly. He was torn between the thought of pouncing and the thought of letting them fight a little first. Stir up the blood lust, and write an ambush all across the battlefield. Inked in blood for all the remember. He could already see all the combat the arena had already seen, blood split so viciously. Each splash carrying it's own tale. A botched dodge, a careful blow. Locking his jaws together as he waited to see what they added to this floors tale.

They both appeared to be swordsman, the one in the center sporting a nauseating dirty blond, pants of black and leather armor. While the other had an olive skin color with messed up brown hair, he could see the nicks and scratches that he probably called scars over his face. One with a long blade, the other a rapier. The one with the pansy foil entered slowly. Muttering all this to himself slowly as he took in each detail about them. One foot going back and forth, his heel clacking against the stone repeatedly. The crowd looked down impatiently for the bloodshed and Cerit is the first to Jeer. "Get on with it already!"

The crowd looked over the combatants scattered over the arenas jagged floor; the terrain was uneven and covered with debris that gave the combatants places to duck behind and use as temporary cover, the ground was sparse and there was little room to run. The columns were mangled and broken along the inner circle of the arena, adding to the debris and past grandeur of this place of battle and bloodshed. At the best vantage point was a raised veiwing platform among the stands, two figures stood within the shadows, watching with hopeful gazes, urging the combatants to begin-- the crowds were growing restless, eager for the first blows.

Within the bowels of the veiwing platform, a pit of sorts with an ornate barred door stood at the area floor's level, the contents of such a pit lost within the shadows, frequent rattling of chains and distorted shuffling echoing from the depths. It was within these shadows that two guards stood outside of a narrow cage; the one was skinny short and narrow and the second was larger and stood a bit taller; The guards were well armed, he noted, though if not a little too well armed; he took another look around him. Two of the chains dangled from Karnage's wrists were secured to a ancient stone and to a pair of wrist manacles that bounded him with a might that no mortal strength could break; Around the Kiltharr's neck a large leather collar connected to a third chain that restrained the previous predators to the wall. The Kilthar glared at the guard the stood nearest to the cage, he didn't make a noise or movement within his withstraints. His back lit large eyes pierced through the dark, they eerily stalked the two guards.

The first guard looked towards Karnage, his legs shook as he shifted in a paniced motion to his partner. "This cat thing is given' me the creeps, it hasn't made a noise or anythin'!" Karnage snorted in the background menacing from the mans behavior. The second man turned in a disgruntled manor. "Calm down, its just a big ol' pussy cat. Aint no way he can harm us~ Now shut up and do your job, wait for the announcer's que and then we let the kitty go. We sure aint being paid ta' be chatterin'." Yet again Karnage snorted reacting to the second gaurds reponse. These two are pathetic, I can smell the fear that wreaks from the short one and the tall one is so absent minded that he can't even turn to look at the 'pussy cat'. Karnage kept eerie reflective eyes focused on the man, staring at him he shuffled his wrists dangling the chains from his wrists.

"Seriously, I don't think this is a normal 'kitty'." The man cgave a nervous chuckle in his yankee accent.. "I-I think it may be one of them eh.. Kiltharr's that them slave traders talk about." The first gaurd murmered nudging the second man to urge him to look. "Eh! Don't touch me, and who cares?? Those three fellas are gunna be dealin' with him soon enough." The first smaller guard shrunk in his place accepting the man's logic. "r-right, y-you can let em' out of the cage. I'm getting outa here, this kinda work aint worth the money." The little man quickly scuttled away avoiding the cage in any way possible. He quickly bolted out the door leaving the chubby man alone with Karnage. "Whatever, more gold for me~"

Karnage growled and chuckled with dark tone from depths of the darkness. "Shame for your partner, he was smart to leave.. I didn't need to see a pathetic human shuffle in his place, he was awful skiddish, and.. you're best to heed his warning.. MyWolverine Clawsjust might choose you as its next victim." He lifted his paw from the ground presenting his claws [Retractable Claws]. The man stood his place and shivered from Karnage's tone of voice. "How about I put it in your layman terms, Ye' better do your job or ye' die; oh and still your tongue or i'll remove it from your purrdy mouth..."

The guard did as the Kiltharr said and kept his attention away from him. The grinned in his own dismay and decided to check out what he was dealing with, his cat eyes used the reflective light from the far off torch to view the surrounding area. A long narrow cage that seemed fit for herding animals towards the mouth of the pit where a glimmer of light filtered through the din, even though the torch at the end did little to light the area. The manacles around his wrists were strong, strong enough to hold him there at least for now. The single guard on the other side of him was just as heavily armed, ax glinting in th torches flicker. Though he seemed more interested now in what was going on outside the pit. The bars around him were old, rusted with age it seemed, most likely from the damp earthen stone around them, yet they seemed strong for their age. Possible magic? Or maybe just the perfected craft of an age long past? Either way, they were more than enough to keep what they deemed dangerous in-- that was until the manacles came off and the door was opened. Then there was no safety for the ones within the arena.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Incantations Used:

The Tree of Nekher (Animalistic)-Dreaded Claws of Wolverine:Growth= 1/2

The sight that greeted Xander made him shake his head in disbelief. It was rude, but not overly so, to have tricked a full grown man to participate in a fight to the death where the only reward for winning was life, but it was downright disgusting to bring in someone who was still practically a kid in. Yet that was who emerged from the other doors. He didn't seem scared, but with the hosts having some sort of way to twist emotions, that hardly meant a thing. Raising his voice to a massive bellow that seemed to teeter on the edge of realistic; the Samurai addressed the assembly.

"You sick freaks, I'm not going to kill a kid 'cuz I signed some paper."

The excited murmuring that oozed from the small audience hushed immediately, clearly as a result from the sudden protest. The carefree, happy eyes that could have well been someone on a picnics turned serious, but not out of a sudden morality check. The stares turned to daggers, and from somewhere behind, a person in the stands had fired a shot from a bow they had. The arrow flew over Xander's left shoulder, not coming into his field of view until it was clattering against the uneven cobble of the floor. He spun around, wanting to engage the coward who would fire from a blind-spot without warning, but the walls were far too high and smooth to climb before he would find himself either a porcupine from all the arrows raining down, or a victim of turning his back to the 'kid' and that other guy hanging around.

Such a shame. Maybe, after he managed to win and leave, he could goad that archer into a fight where he could reach him. But that plan would require a win first. The samurai turned back to view Boreas and Cerit. Hopefully, the younger of the two wasn't just picked at random and possessed some ability; it would make him feel better if he ended up killing the guy. But he was being too tender. It was time to shelf the idea that he was going to be crossing blades with a youth and start thinking about taking on another opponent, another fight, and another time to enjoy himself. He eyed up the man sitting above, trying to take in the environment quickly. It was odd to see so many pillars and support beams in a room with no roof, but noticing how odd the set-up was was meaningless at this time.

Again shouting, though not quite as loud as to dizzy himself briefly like last time, Xander called out to Boreas. "Sorry you got caught up in this, but I'm not a big fan of dieing, and it'l look pretty bad if I let someone as young as you do me in."

No sooner did he finish addressing the duelist did a loud chime ring through the building. From previously unnoticed doors in the upper levels of the seating, dozens of people flocked in, each few seconds being followed by an increase in noise. The seats weren't going to be full, but Xander would never have guessed that the amount of people entering would have been able to be found in an area that seemed completely forgotten. They filed in with great efficiency, taking only a few moments to have everyone seated. Another chime. This one hushed the people, and one robed man stood up and clasped his hands together. Xander could only guess it meant start.

Maybe my body will give me some strength while I take on the young guy so that the one sitting up high will be easier. Yea, that sounds pretty good. Damned free for alls though, I hope the guy up top doesn't pull some flanking crap later.

Right foot forward first, Xander began a calm walk towards the duelist, both his gloved hands on the pommel of his blade, the weapon itself resting neatly against his right shoulder, ready to be swung should the action start quick.

Boreas’ eyes quickly became adjusted to the bright daylight, taking in more and more of his surroundings as his vision cleared. His first thought was that he was in some kind of ruins, with a random spread of broken, mossy pillars over a ground that was so bumpy and uneven Boreas was almost dreading fighting on it. His mode sank as he realised this environment would play havoc with his footing, and could cause several very painful mistakes.

Boreas then noticed that the battleground was ringed by crumbling walls that ended in row after row of seats, many of which were filling quickly with various spectators. Boreas didn’t bother to pay them more than a quick glance before dismissing them of unimportant and looking around for his opponent.

It wasn’t long before Boreas noticed his opponents, and his stomach dropped. It wasn’t their appearance that depressed the duellist, but more the fact that there were two of them, and he really didn’t feel like fighting another three way. Not after that last one, during his opening match at the fabled King of Darkness tournament. Boreas shivered with the memory of that vicious struggled in a fiery hell hole, caught between a raging madman and a horrible, blue haired demon.

It was then that one of his opponents, preached loftily upon one of the crumbling pillars, yelled out a sneering jeer causing Boreas to snap out of his memories and return to the harshness of reality. The figure’s face was concealed beneath the hood of his crimson robe, but Boreas could just make out tendrils of long, unkempt hair resting on the bulky figures shoulders. His words irritated Boreas, for they reminded him of the trick that the blue haired demon Ein had once tried to play on him.

Boreas decided to play a little trick back on this robed figure to vent a little of that irritation. He started walking towards his other foe, yelling “Alright!” as he went. He reached his right hand across his body, appearing to reach for the hilt of his sheathed rapier, yet he didn’t grab it. Instead, he flexed his fingers once and a double edged knife discretely jumped out from under his shirt, responding to the magnetic pull of his summon. A slight tingle ran up the duellist’s arm as the cold metal came in contact with his the soft flesh of his palm but practice had enabled him to ignore the feeling completely.

Without hesitation Boreas snapped out his right arm to its full length, flicking his wrists as he released the knife to add a lethal spin to the blade. The blade soared through the air on a direct path to slice its rotating, razor sharp edges into the robed man’s chest, hopefully knocking him off his lofty preach and back down to the other’s level.

Reaching across his body once more, Boreas drew his rapier and continued to walk towards his second foe. This one was dressed in leather armour and openly wielded a long sword. Boreas smiled to himself as he noticed this, realising that here, for once, was a warrior who he could fight head on. If his luck held out this armed stranger might even fight honourably, causing his day to become much more enjoyable.

Boreas smiled even wider as he answered his second foe’s outraged exclamation. “Don’t worry” he said in a voice loud enough to carry “this ‘Kid’ is likely to be more than a match for you.”

_________________Kylar, The Mercenary"Your mother was a hamster; and your Father smelt of Elderberries! Now, go away before I am forced to taunt you a second time!

It was a quick reaction as he heard the one with the rapier call back. Reaching over for what seemed to be his rapier before a blade emerged from his sleeve. Deftly throwing the two-sided dagger up at Cerit with a nice spin. An almost calming whistling noise as it soared through the air at his chest.Trying to shift away from the blow would have impossible sitting up there like that, and he wasn't gonna get any peace up here if that guy had range. Pulling his scythe up to his shoulder and trying to hop off the edge as the blade arced it's way above Cerit's right breast and digging into him as he fell from his vantage point, all he could do to pull the knife out before it got hammered into him by the ground. "Damn... nice shot." He heard from some asshole.

Thunk went his head against the ground and his scythe made a right loud clattering noise as he laid there like a slug, gathering himself. A little pool of blood forming under him as he waited for the ringing to stop as the crowd gave a resounding "Ooooof!" In empathy for what they thought was his pain. Some bold words spoken by the thrower to the other man. Cerit shifted his eyes to them as he brought up his other arm to heave himself up to his feet. Tilting his head to one side before he hears a satisfying crack, grabbing up his scythe with his other hand as he stood to face the others. Taking the double sided blade and taking a taste of his own blood off it before throwing it to the ground. "First blood, I call second though."

Trying to time it just right as the one with the pansy foil approached the man with the longsword. Trying to get nice and close to take in their every detail now that he had the chance,being all on the ground and such. The knife thrower being closer to Cerit's age, whatever it may be, he figured he had considerably less skill then what could now be identified as an old man nearing his middle ages, wise enough to wear armor. Which was troublesome considering how well his peer had thrown that knife. He felt conflicted between which to end first if he couldn't finish them at the same time. They both gave him an odd feeling, Especially the younger of the two. The way the wind seemed to pay such close attention to him, he could see strands of silver dance amongst the breeze as it played across his hair. Like a father ruffling his hair. There was something unnatural about that wind but Cerit couldn't place his finger on it...

He widened his stance as he looked to the others, scythe being pulled back and held behind him as he places his other hand on it.The blade pointed at the ground from behind him. It had felt so long since he was this in tune with Zu... the light glow from his forehead giving a pleasant warmth as it reacted with this feeling of euphoria and preparing to show the duelist that his guardian was better. Ever since the rituals began he felt even more in the moment.His mind didn't drift away from the kill like it had before, it was the first and last thing on his mind as he charged after the two not in a random timing , but waiting for the duelist to close the gap with the swordsman. Arcing around to the left side, making sure his scythe is outside from them as he aims to strike between them. Hoping to get both of them within the radius of the attack. Going at Boreas' back and hopefully through to Xander's front. Sort of like a makeshift Kabob made out of people.

The crowd grew louder as the action began, light whispers turning to chatting as they discuss who is the favored to win. Cerit could almost feel his popularity sinking after his fall but they seemed impressed enough at his quick recovery. He needed to show them the power of Zu though... an audience to show his greatness to, before he purged them from this existence to the next. The thought bringing his fangs to bear as his blood lust rose. Even their mediocre souls starting to seem appealing in this hungry state. But he knew they would get him nowhere.He needed to slate this thirst. He needed proper sacrifices. He needed these two.

Due to issues Karnage is being dropped from the fight at this point. If at all possible it would be nice if he was able to rejoin sometime later, however that could/will work.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The younger combatant, after taking in his surroundings, matched the pace of the notably older figure closing in on him. It was not hurried in any sense, but the length of the strides coming from the young man spoke of both courage and experience. He was not intimidated in the least, but seemed to know better then rushing and making an opening to exploit. The tip off for Xander to realise these things came from his response though. His eager willingness to risk his neck, rather then the expected action of staying back, spoke well of him. And his hand was moving towards his weapon in such a calm way. Either he had not been chosen at random or he was a fool. The Samurai was much more willing to believe the former now, the events of the last few seconds helped him solidify the idea that there would be no guilt involved with fighting today.

He was eager to see exactly what sort of blade Boreas would bring into the battle, half expecting a small weapon more suited for someone still not fully grown, and hoping he was the type to not live up to the expectation. A boy his age already wielding a two-handed or even a hand-and-a-half type would have been a reason to truely value his presence in the fight. The other man seemed to have a scythe on his person; all combatants using large weapons would be exceedingly cool. At least in Xander's eyes. Which is why he grunted with dissatisfaction when the knife was drawn. He immediatly expected the attack to come for him, but the draw was misleading. Reaction time couldn't keep up, forcing his instincts to take the second best route. His Long Sword was twisted slightly away from its resting spot by a twisting left wrist and a right hand letting go. As soon as there was comfortable room, the right palm pressed against the flat side of the blade and moved to be parallel to his throat, while his left dropped to his naval. This was done out of long practices, he would assume the thrower had perfect accuracy, and would aim for the middle of his targets while aiming for an easy kill. In this defence the hands or blade would have a decent chance of repelling such a perfect throw, and still cover enough that any other throw would be tolerable. He also turned his head to the right to look up at Cerit in a sad hope that his eyes would be less likely to be targeted. He caught his breath in confusion when the sudden and potentially lethal surprise stayed in his field of view and found itself hitting the other valid target in the ring.

"So the brat has throwing weapons."

Things turned rather sour in the mind of Xander. He had hoped that Boreas wasn't going to just be a sad victim to the people who had tricked him into the mess, but he did not want to have to keep track of everything he was doing constantly. Most people with throwing knives had more than just one, and he knew that if he left the kid out of his sight for a single moment he could find himself on the receiving end of something that he would judge a cheap kill. It wouldn't have been so annoying if it was just a one-on-one where he wouldn't usually have a reason to not watch him constantly, but here they were in a free-for-all. Notes were made. Xander would have to try his best to keep combat in a line or a triangle, the line only working if he wasn't in the middle. Still, it would be best if he could eliminate one opponent quickly so that he would either not have to worry about the boy playing with knives, or could focus on the hands of that same individual. It wasn't a welcomed strategy; normally he preferred to play with his food and enjoy it. Fighting without enjoying it felt wrong and unnatural, but he could already guess this was going to be one of those times.

But perhaps he could enjoy the fight. After taking the dagger like a chump (though Xander knew how sudden the attack was, and figured it was just as unexpected from the man's view), the guy dropped off his short-lived seat. He managed to remove the dagger during the fall, but it seriously appeared that he had passed out or died from the fall. Just like that it seemed that the battle was already simplified. Experiences like this is what created the disdain of throwing weapons in general; they were capable of killing someone so suddenly and without warning they literally destroyed any fun a fight could contain. Though it was less so after the knowledge had been exposed, at least that way people would know to look out for the things before they died. He almost shuddered at the idea that he could have been in the other man's shoes right now if Boreas had chosen his target differently.

But no, it appeared that he would not be so lucky as to only have one remaining foe. The injured one made his way back up on his feet after a short moment of adding his own crimson colouring to the battleground beneath. It was odd at how the only noise made was from the fall and the landing, Cerit seemingly unwilling to squeak out any sort of pained confirmation of the damage he had taken. Was he just showing off? Perhaps he didn't take as much from that as it looked. Xander could only guess, but whatever the reasons behind the outcome were, pondering would have to wait. The three were now in close range of each other, and things started moving quickly with the draw of a rapier and swing of a scythe happened in relatively quick succession. It was pretty easy to see he was in the line of fire for the large swing of the farm tool. Xander had imagined the arc of the swing would end with him being stabbed if there was not a target it between. He would have liked to see how things played out with the aforementioned target being present, but he was not foolish enough to expect Boreas to stay in the way of the attack to prevent danger from reaching the Samurai. Instead, now replacing his right grip on the handle of his long sword, he stepped back and swung to the point the scythe would have stabbed him, aiming to catch the point with the mid part of his blade. And his plan would likely work out [Peerless]. If Boreas really did stay for the show, he would find a scythe through him and a sword cutting neatly into his side ever-so-slightly, but the vibration from the collision would certainly make whatever pain that much more noticeable. If the two blades met as intended, Xander planned on pushing the scythe away a bit and then running forward to stab at Cerit.

Boreas watched closely at the two different reactions to his surprise attack. The robed stranger was caught flat footed, so he did the only thing which was physically possible in the situation. Watching from the corner of his eye Boreas saw that the stranger fell forwards after a thud that ran through this his bulky frame as the lethal blade impacted. With a swish of the cloak the stranger fell in front the pillar, and the uneven landscape caused him to drop out of sight, fooling Boreas into thinking for a few blissful seconds that he had solved his most pressing problem.

His hopes were dashed when he caught sight robed figure picking himself, gritty sand being dislodged from the crimson robes by the simple act of standing. Doubts flooded into his mind, questioning whether or not he had actually scored a direct hit with that first strike, yet his mind was set at ease by the boastful comment about second blood belonging to the stranger. The long strides of the cloaked man brought him swiftly to the fight, and if Boreas was any judge of distance he would say that daunting looking farm implement would enter the conflict right about when Boreas came within striking distance of the older fighter.

This thought drew Boreas’ consciousness back to the fighter, who he guessed had to be some kind of samurai. The best thing about Boreas’ simple, well trained mind was that he didn’t find it hard to multitask, and while his thoughts had been focused on that cloaked stranger his eyes had soaked in several important details about the samurai in front of him.

The samurai had reacted to his surprise attack with proper skill, but more importantly he had reacted at a very swift speed that spoke of decades of experience. His use of the flat of the blade of his long sword to cover the largest amount of body showed intelligence to accompany that experience, and with uncommon insight Boreas realise that he was once again caught between a sharp mind and an unhinged one. He still hadn’t reached a decision on which was worse, even after that savage combat in the hell hole.

A crunching of sand announced a shift in stance of the approaching cloaked man, and the slightest swish of air being neatly parted caused Boreas to realise that this stranger was attempting to use his oversized farm implement to reap both his foes at once. Thinking ‘Screw this’, Boreas switched his rapier to his left hand and dived into motion, literally. His dive twisted into a roll as he came along side the samurai’s left, and as he hit the ground and came out of the roll he slashed backwards with his rapier. It was a quick, easy cut aimed to slice through the denim pants and into the hard muscle of his foe’s left thigh, hopefully crippling at least one of his foes movements.

Boreas neatly finished his manoeuvre by jumping lightly to his feet before twisting around swiftly to keep track of his foes. The crowd, which had been collectively holding its breath as the first true round of combat was underway, suddenly exploded in a burst of noise. A few people cheered praise of the all parties, a few fired away criticisms; however the majority of the crowd yelled its disapproval of a lack of impressive bloodshed.

Even over the noise Boreas heard the clang of steel blocking steel, and he knew that the farm implement had failed to reap any blood this time. A cheeky grin spread across his face as he began to speak, firstly to the cloaked stranger then to both combatants. “Looks like you miss out on second blood as well. So, shall we start the introductions now? I’m Boreas by the way.”

_________________Kylar, The Mercenary"Your mother was a hamster; and your Father smelt of Elderberries! Now, go away before I am forced to taunt you a second time!

It all happened so fast. Before Cerit could realize all that was going on Boreas had tucked and rolled himself out of harms way and Cerit felt the shake of his scythe as the tip of it's blade collided with the swordsman's. Pushing up against the blade and trying to force it through with no prevail, only straining the other's arms back. He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Xander fidget his blade around to keep the point balanced. "You got skill, but your far too weak..." Hopping back he pulled the blade back allowing it to spin back into a full circle before gripping the scythe reverse grip with a widened stance.

It came so easy to him now as the energy flowed into his body... flexing the power down to his feet quickly and pushing extra out to cause the dust to poof up a bit around him, a grin coming across his face as he twists the energy up from around his feet swirling around his body and filling his scythe with that normal pulsing glow of purple. "By Zu's twisted gaze, I repulse my enemies and leave only the stains of blood..." His own crazy eyes taking on a faint glow.

All of this giving Boreas more then enough time to bring his blade across Xander's leg before twisting himself to his feet. Spry little man. Openly taunting our hero as he stole second blood as well. "Boreas... the boy who dances with wind in the beast's den, only to be plucked from the sky and devoured." Cerit spoke quickly and quietly in response to his name. "Know thy peril's name. Cerit, your shogun of sorrow..." And with that he brought his blade up diagonally, only to take a pivot step and follow through to start swinging diagonally down.

Though Xander might be able to tell the blade would be coming up just short, he wouldn't predict the sudden break in the air as purple static grows into the arc of the swing, filling into a large blast, as soon as the scythe's last bit detaches the arc is sent flying forward. Hopefully into Xander and then Boreas. ( Fending energy x2 remaining)

His grin only grew as the light talking had grew into a more crowded sound, They probably didn't come expecting any supernatural abilities. But little did they know that Cerit was much more then what appeared on the surface. Something that even Cerit himself could only describe as a horrible creature. He looked on his opponents and wondered if they had seen the type of horrors Cerit had unleashed on the world... the kind of violence that gave birth to minds like his.

"Have you ever seen true fear? True pain? Have you seen a person begging for death... knowing the next few minutes would be a far worse. If I could show you my memories, would you turn out like me?." He goads on, not even really noticing the familiar smell being carried around the room. How it poured into each of his breathes. " Oh I know... show me what is most dear to you and let me rip it away, maybe then I can show you..." Suddenly bursting into laughter at the very thought, not a normal chuckle. For some reason the thought bringing him more enjoyment then he felt in a long time, bringing on a laugh that is only reminiscent of a certain clown.

Then silence, repositioning his scythe up on his shoulder as if to swing it like a pick. Intense concentration. Waiting for the next move in a sudden realization. "Not an acceptable outburst..." Began to ring in his head over and over, it just wouldn't stop...

The first steps of the dance seemed to be going well. Even though the crimson cloaked stranger had swung first, Xander's blade was able to catch up for the collision to happen where he would be able to exert more force. Even better, what he had hoped to do worked. Balancing the tip of a scythe on the small flat of his blade was something he wouldn't have been able to do only a month before. This felt like a confirmation. He had not only felt like he was the swordsman he was six year ago, he was able to do the cool, flashy tricks that ultimately did nothing. He knew that going into the swing though. If he was simply out to kill his opponent, it would have been better to dodge the blade and press the attack, rather than doing some fancy power struggle. Things weren't serious yet, so screwing around a bit was still justifiable, and they were indeed set up as a show. Stuff like this excited Xander, and the crowd seemed to be impressed too. It would be easy to hate these spectators for funding and supporting those rude enough to get people in to the fights, but the Samurai was much more comfortable assuming them naive instead of selfish.

But the wobbly balance being possible is where the similarities to his past prowess ended. He had, yet again, failed to remember that his body refused to let him have access to all his strength[slow starter]. From the moment the two weapons met, the tissues in the other's body fired for dominance in the competition, and Xander's own were willing to comply. The uneven match made the balance all the more difficult to hold, and he knew that he would lose it at any second, allowing whatever momentum the other had to make a rude strike. The failure to hold position was inevitable though, as it required a visual focus to maintain, something that had been removed the instant Boreas ducked away.

Though slightly disappointing, the older swordsman truly believed that the younger one was not horribly screwed. Disappointing but not surprising. Two weapons were headed for his position, and anyone with reaction time would likely be making their way out of the danger. Xander's eyes seemed to remember the plan to keep an eye on him more than the man himself, and when the Duelist rolled to safety, his eyes rolled along with him. Having the blunt end of a scythe crash into your leather armor was upsetting, but a throwing knife in the spine was game-ending. The attack itself was of little shock, but the execution threw the older man. Even while mentally acknowledging the threat the young man was, he still seemed to play down his threat subconsciously. Or perhaps this was just another way his body could screw with his pastime. He was expecting the attack would come after the recovery, but instead the evasion fluidly preluded the swing of his rapier. From an onlookers viewpoint, it would have almost seemed as if the roll was a part of the attack itself and the fact that it took him out of harms way was just a side bonus. Xander's mind raced for a solution, saddened by the position of his blade that, while now no longer brushing against a farmtool, was painfully on the other side of where it needed to be to make a block. Even with his skill and the ability to speed up a swing even more in dire circumstance was not going to travel enough distance to stop the attack. It seemed as though the boy could start mocking the other man by stealing his called shot. But the angle of the attack could potentially cripple his leg, which would be extremely detrimential unless he could convince the other two to fight sitting down with him. That wouldn't be a good situation.

He twisted right in an act of desperation. Things weren't even really serious yet. It would plague him for ages if he let the first attack take him out of a fight. It was bad. It was counter to his previous direction, and it took the young swordsman completely out of view. He cursed his position; he had just made the call to not do this. And it didn't even dodge the rapier when his right leg . He felt the blade divide his flesh before meeting his hip, the cut making its way down to bone within a fraction of a second. Normally he made fun of foes who used flighty little weapons like the rapier, especially if they weren't mages looking for a fancy way to defend themselves. In his mind, large weaponry was what any aspiring fighter should be using, even if they are still short and young. But when he felt the blade painfully make its way through his flesh, he mentally thanked the boy for not using something that would cause more damage.

His peripherals caught sign of a short swing. He was quick to disregard his threat, much more willing to continue his clockwise spin towards the boy. He would strike at him not for anger driven revenge, but simply to send the message that he was not just some old guy with a sword. If he was to take an injury, he would try to reciprocate that unto his foe if at all possible. With increased speed at precision he spun with his sword in both hands as if he were swinging a bat, made only slightly uncomfortable by the new gash on his side and the disorientating twist to keep his leg. Catching him just after he bounced to a standing position could improve the chances of hitting him, hopefully to slash at the right triceps. If the attack was successful, it would allow Xander to start making fun of the boy for using a rapier, something he refused to do until he did more damage than he took from the sword.

Multi-tasking wasn't what Xander was known for. While making his assault on the young man, he had turned his back to the other threat. His peripherals had told him that it was a calculated risk, but one that should pay off due to the short swing that seemed to be on its way. He heard the man talk, though he didn't listen to him, instead leaving word about Zu and stains to the wind. There was a chance he could have expected the failed attack to be intentional, even a ruse, but he did not. He accepted what he saw and moved on. There were times were this was helpful, but feeling the brisk impact of primal energies collide into his backside had made it apparent that this was not one of those times. Between his leather and his solid bones the purple energy was hardly painful. The annoyance, and effectiveness, came from its surprise and solid landing. Eyes widened as he found himself falling suddenly towards Boreas. His left knee his the uneven cobble hard, his right knee barely able to avoid a similar fate. The amount of movement in the last few seconds, as well as trying to mentally recover from the surprise that pushed him back half a metre had destroyed any chance that he would be able to bounce back to his feet immediately.

The voice responsible for the unpleasent movement started some weird chatter, mentioning things like fear and pain. Most guys he liked to hang out with didn't talk like that. Definitely not a coincidence.

A nice tug on his blade as he rolled past let Boreas know that his rapier had struck home, meaning that he was the first combatant in this fight to draw blood from both foes. A little grin crossed his face as the pride at his own skill made him feel a little warm inside, yet he knew better then to let it go to his head. He may have struck first blood, however only heart blood counted in a fight like this. And the memory that this was indeed meant to be a fight to the death caused the warm glow inside Boreas to solidify into a heavy lead lump that dropped down into the deep abyss of his guts, figuratively speaking that is.

Boreas came out of the roll with a light spring, leaping swiftly to his feet and twisting around with the crunch of grinding sand under his heels. His eyes instantly sought out his foes; however they didn’t need to seek for long. The nameless samurai had pulled some miraculous feet that involved a large amount of twisting, grunting and swinging of that overly large sword of his, the end effect being that Boreas now had several painful lengths of steel sweeping swiftly towards the soft flesh of his belly.

Boreas' instincts shook into effect without hesitation, realising that his mind would definitely not want his body to be sliced cleanly in half. Not only would that unpleasant action results in a lot of mess, it would also cut his chances of surviving in half, literally. Unfortunately, there was only really one thing they could do, since his rapier had no chance of blocking such a blade. He jumped backwards, sucking in his gut and pushing out his but as he went, trying in vain to get just that little centre meter more.

Unfortunately for him this wasn’t enough, and the sharp tip of the long sword cleanly parted his hessian vest. At first he thought he had escaped narrowly, however when the landing forced his mid region to contract a fiery pain quickly discarded this ridiculous notion with a vengeance. Boreas’ face twisted in an expression of annoyance as he groaned a sound that was halfway between a frustrated noise and a sigh. His free hand quickly explored the part in his dusty old vest and a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he realised that the wound was shallow indeed, and a small amount of pressure should quickly stem the crimson flow.

At first Boreas quickly toyed with the notion of very painful payback in the form of his crafty little secret, the knife launcher; however this idea was knocked straight out of his head as he saw the flash of a peculiar purple light smash painfully into the Samurai’s backside, knocking the old timer down to one knee. The position was perfect, and if Boreas had been a cold blooded killer that would have been the end of one of the combatants right then and there.

Fortunately for the samurai Boreas wasn’t, and a grimace of sympathy crossed the duellist’s face and stayed his hand. Or at least, stayed it until he noticed Cerit, who just happened to be in a similarly perfect position and would most probably not be encumbered by the same compassion for the living that Boreas was. And, now that you mention it, his scythe could probably do a much messier job of ending one’s life, even if it was just an overgrown farm implement. This was something that had to be discouraged, as it went against every nerve in the young duellist’s body.

So he acted. It was simple really; Boreas' free hand was already close to his abdomen, placing pressure on his superficial wound. All it had to do was lift up slightly, like this, flick its hand slightly, like this, and a doubled edge knife would leap joyfully from its holster, hidden beneath the joins of his pants and shirt. Just like that, actually, and all that was left was a snap of the arm and a flick of the wrist, like this. And then, or now to use the precise terms, a doubled edge knife was flying on a path that curved around the Samurai’s head to try and impale itself in pretty much the same place its brother had landed not that long ago.

The attempted knife to the chest would hopefully slow down the red robed killer; however Boreas' compassion also demanded that he give the battered samurai some breathing room. Therefore he returned his free hand to his wound and paced to his left, circling around both his foes in a slow attempt to let Cerit know he wasn’t alone.

“Third blood belongs to the old timer.” He said to Cerit, openly taunting him. “Are you slacking off?”

_________________Kylar, The Mercenary"Your mother was a hamster; and your Father smelt of Elderberries! Now, go away before I am forced to taunt you a second time!

Boreas and Xander had a little back and forth going on Xander had decided to ignore Cerit as a threat. Turning his back and focusing on the duelist. Completely revealing his back to Cerit's Fending energy. Pushing the man forward a good bit and forcing him to his knee as the nonlethal force willed him forward. Boreas hesitated however, not willing to put down a whimpering dog as he threw a nice curve around Xander's head straight towards Cerit again. Taunting Cerit for his lack of ability to draw blood thus far. He'd show him though... was determined t do so. Boreas' arrogance would be his downfall, disregarding the threat of the ever growing Zu.

Taking his scythe and flipping it so the top of his blade faced the ground. Hitting the side of the blade against the ground three times as he started to run up toward Xander as he recollected himself for a moment. Taking another unpredictable curved route to make sure he didn't have to pull another dagger from his chest. "Oy oy oy! you think you can just mock me like that?! I am superior! Your superior! Only my lordship may look down on me!" Cerit shouted to the carefree duelist . Shifting the blade upward and grabbing the shaft as the blade spun back, holding it up over the side of his head as he made the mad dash towards the kneeling Xander. Looking ready to chop his head clean off.

But it only seemed to be so. As he reached Xander, Cerit leaped off his feet and landed with one foot on Xander's back. Carefully making sure to to get one foot on Xander's other shoulder to have a steady support before pushing off for another jump as wispy purple energies swept around him once again. Energy building quickly into his arm as the muscles rippled painfully beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth as as he swing the blade down towards Boreas' neck, looking to cleave it violently from his shoulders.(Sudden Burst: x2 remain)

Not entirely sure how his opponents were going to react Cerit simply tried to focus on keeping his balance when he landed. Being forced to go with the motion of the scythe in the air he decides it best to just let the scythe go, letting the blade go spinning off into the air as he spreads his arms out wide to help balance himself. Hearing an annoyingly loud clang against the ground as he landed with a widened stance, his footing lost as he trips over himself catching himself as few times before standing up straight.

The crowd roared in appreciation, The seats were beginning to fill up more appropriately now. It certainly wasn't full but a surprising amount of people came in to enjoy the show Cerit had been volunteered for. The late viewers dealing with the confusion of what they'd missed and the spectacle of Cerit's airtime assault. Big wig types starting to make the place reek of greasy,disgusting,loud,obnoxious, fat cat wanna-be mortals who only knew power through money. Power that easily swayed as time went buy. They knew it perhaps better then anyone. Is that why they were here? Some maybe very well be betting the last of their money riding on one of the three.

So quick to throw people into the cold grasp of death. Cerit had seen similar treatment during his training amongst the cultists. Being thrown in a cage with a rabid animal in the truest hands on learning technique he had ever seen. He was only given a knife under the pretense that was all he needed. They had said. "Man is weak and fragile, but with the help of steel and mind he to can have claws and truly be the greatest survivor." Cerit wasn't even sure if that justified it. He was so young at the time, hardly coming to terms with his own body, still so rebellious and willing to fight. He recalled the feeling of being without family or friends as his own betrayed him. Blindly blaming them for the wishes of Zu. We all must play our part, and Cerit was the bishop that stood beside the king and queen.

But regardless there was no purpose here. This arena was nothing but a waste of Zu's time until he came across the two he was fighting. He gave it some thought as he turned himself around, backing up away from the others slowly. Towards his scythe that laid on the ground. Suddenly feeling very stupid as he inched his way back towards the reaping tool that seemed miles away. Eying the other two that stood amongst him in the struggle warily as he considered if that just maybe they were the purpose. Zu was always so sly that Cerit found it hard to follow all the plans to the fullest. Being the caring lord that Cerit swore Zu was, the entity liked to give him pushes in the right direction. "Could this be the plan? Couldn't be... do you think you two are strong enough to nourish Zu?"

It was agreed via MSN and pm, and again confirmed over MSN that in lieu of Karnage's inability to return, I would take his place in the fight as the fourth fighter.

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It wasn't exactly pleasant waking up in a cell to loud cheering and two guards eying you through the bars. It was even less so when they notice you're awake. Moving quickly from laying down on the hard bed to in a crouch growling, Nuncia tried to remember where the hell she was.

It had been night in the forest, caravans tumbling by... That was right. I was bored and overly agitated at being woken up so I attacked the camp.... I got a few of them but one must have been a mage or something because after that it's fuzzy.... I remember attacking, then falling, and now I wake up with my weapon on me in a cell. Not exactly what I would call satisfying. And what the hell is with that racket out there?

She took in the surroundings quickly; stone walls, torches, iron bars around her in a tunnel of sorts, wide enough for arms to fit through but not wide enough for her to slip through. Not in this form at least.... she thought as the first guard was moving towards the back of the cage to poke her, saying something in a language she couldnt comprehend, motioning her towards the mouth of the tunnel that sloped upwards. Underground... Where the hell am I? This was more than enough to make her furious, her growling reaching a crescendo as the pole came to poke her forwards. Moving towards the mouth of the tunnel seemed what they wanted from her... She didn't know what was waiting for her, but by the sounds of it there was a decent crowd out there, cheering about something.

Better go see what hell I can raise. Maybe I can take my aggressions out on a few unlucky folks out there...

Moving in her low crouch along the dirt floor, she made it towards the end of the tunnel, the gates closed. One of the men were trying to open it by pulling on the chains that used the pulley system to lift the great iron bars up and unleashed the beast. She didn't bother to wait, but shifted to fit between the bars, her newly acquired whiskers twitching on the end of her nose as her skinned tail as her tiny ratty feet scampered on the loose rocks as she made her way into the light.

From the perspective of a rat, the arena was even more massive than usual, the uneven ground making mountains to limb over, the pillars crumbling into giant stone trees. So this is what the world looks like from down here... she thought as she scrambled over another chunk of uneven ground, her tiny claws digging in as best they could. Her gray-brown fur blended well with the worn earthen stone of the arena, and honestly, who would notice a rat? She moved further into the circle of pillars, seeing the spectators high in the sky on their thrones, wondering what exactly they were watching... Climbing to the top of a crumbled pillar proved harder than normal, but in time she made it up there and saw from a better perspective the three fighters dancing below her. Far below her. Being small was suddenly a little more daunting than her alternative forms...

She watched as the demon man, Cerit, she had rescued from the jail spring-boarded off Xander's back, recognizing the older man from her dinner with him... the other one was a younger boy, with a rapier, who seemed to enjoy throwing knives. She had no recollection of him, so she watched him a little more closely before deciding a course of action.

Scrambling down the pillar, she opted for the 'surprise attack' idea, since the other two had a previous encounter with her that gave them an edge, though both only ever saw one form of hers... They didn't know about the aces up her sleeves yet. Pattering closer to the group, she waited next to the pillar waiting for an opportune moment to strike at an opponents back, since that was the easiest attack to land, and the hardest to dodge in her opinion, especially when there was no warranting for the attack.

Soon enough, the dancers found their positions, the young boys back to her as she gave a ratty smile. Perfect... she purred in her mind, making a mad dash in her rat form towards the boy, moving into her Sylvan form smoothly in stride, her kris in her hand ready for a back stab aimed below the ribs on the left side, the kris in her right in a reversed hold across her chest. It was a cheap shot, she knew that, but she had had her fill of disappointing battles recently, and wanted to come into one in the upper hand; the scars from the last swords wielder were faintly visible down her chest and across her abdomen in a reversed cross, pale against the gray brown of her skin.

The strike would keep her behind the boy, her back to no one but the pillar, using him as a meat shield if need be. The appearance of a scantily clad elf out of nowhere had the crowd gasping, and some cheering, her shift timed to be a step before she struck the boy in front of her, their reactions leaving barely any time at all for a reflex move to look behind him.

At first glance she had thought this to be a duel of sorts with three participants for some kind of reward of gold or something. Now she saw it as a tournament, and she was bent on winning this one, the bitter taste of defeat still lathered into her pride's wounds after the last one with that blasted Mage and Psionist...

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Transformations:

Rat (weak) 1/1 uses

Cool down 0/2 posts

_________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~What do You know about Surviving~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~=========================================Aisu, the Cursed Shifter==========================================

Boreas was quick to react, springing backwards in a fast response to the uncomfortable and unplanned attack. It seemed as if the boy was quick on his feet on both attack and defence, and with that throwing arm of his, seemed like quite the capable skirmisher type. If he was in the audience rather than in the fight, and if he had not been a warrior himself, he may have enjoyed watching the guy. His dodge and smaller weapon seemed to make him out to prefer evasion over defence, and since Xander was in the fight rather than the audience and trained in battle, he watched with a mild distaste. Clearly, especially given their current position, his way about things was effective. Dancing and jumping surely was effective, an idea strengthened by the current position of both fighters, but it just seemed so wasteful to the older man. Energy was a limited resource, and though the boy could hardly be blamed for not knowing, Xander excelled in the long run, where he would keep on fighting after his opponent had run dry.

One may think that the samurai should enjoy seeing an opponent act in this manner if it gave him any sort of advantage. Not so. If the boy was indeed the bouncy type he seemed to be, it would be in his best interest to stall and let him waste himself, especially in this life or death ring. He wasn't a fan of stalling. Stalling was lame... and just as annoying as a foe who was always where the weapons weren't. And for the same reasons. So it was a small joy seeing the end of the longsword find its target. Given the reaction, the cut seemed to be about as deep as the one he had just received too, though he could only guess that they both had about the same pain tolerance. Were it not for the inconvenient position the back attack placed him in he would have called the recent clash a fair trade.

The stone did not bother his knee too much. Perhaps a fall would scuff up the skin a bit, but his unnaturally resilient bones kept the damage and pain limited to his flesh. It wasn't pleasant, but any weapon blow would hurt more, and his newest nick had shielded him from noticing whatever pain his knee may be feeling. He knew that his position was bad, and would need to be fixed soon if at all possible. Neither of these combatants could be in a position to have a fun fight, that is, unless they did not recieve the same speech he had. Or he had been lied to. Regardless, Boreas softened; he had enough honour to not strike at his downed opponent. It gave him an idea. He gave the duelist a nod of acknowledgement with a smile, silently thanking him for his good nature. His body screamed at his stupidity as he mirrored the movement he had only done one other time many years ago. He let his other leg fall dip down to the floor beneath, now standing on his knees, then he leaned forward a bit and lowered his head. All of his focus went to his ears, his arms now at his sides, relaxed. He closed his eyes, trying to remove any distraction to his focus, and waited for Cerit to approach. Last time he did this out of exhaustion and necesity, and for all the potential for failure, he ended up killing the man.

In the first clash Xander let his feet move to the rhythm of the other two, and so far, though he wasn't in any sort of disarray from doing so, he didn't like fighting on another's terms. He needed to take control of the battle before problems escalated, and the sympathy from Boreas could be the only window he would get. Cerit let out a few bangs, giving away his location easily, before running. It was perfect. If he was to make a strike he would almost assuredly announce that by a change of pace, if not a full stop. It would be at that key moment Xander would swing, and like last time, his blade would connect first. The shocking slash across a vital point would be the end of anyone who did not possess a great deal of talent and reaction speed. And even should he be able to walk away, the bad battle flow should be corrected.

There was no pause, and really, not much weapon movement. The run continued right up his back, placing all of the man's weight into his knees. It certainly was a good call to allow the other to settle on the cobble, as it would have been pressed down anyway, likely hurting more then it already did. The guy was heavy. His height and frame suggested that, but one does not really understand how someone is until they were running up their back. It was more then tempting to try and roll him off for some strange trip attempt, but instead, he chose to endure the stomping feet. If he was launching himself at the boy, his back would quickly be exposed. It was time to get him back for knocking him down, and much more so, for using him as flooring.

He made a wicked strike at the quick rapier wielding boy in the air while Xander was finally getting to his feet. His knees were somewhat stiff from the fall and the pressure, so Cerit had plenty of time to righten himself out from his jump. Still, the chance was there, he was now apparently weapon-less and flanked. In his past, Xander would not strike at an opponent without a weapon unless they were a capable magic user. For awhile that choice turned out well, the unarmed not being slain when they were unable to defend themselves. His view on attacking the unarmed changed dramatically when he took a bet on a fight between himself and some martial artist though. Now he knew; those willing to be without weapons in a fight usually did so because they didn't actually need them.

Rising to his feet as quickly as he could control, Xander lashed out at the apparently un-armoured backside twice. Neither of the swings would be cause for too much alarm though. Xander had traded quality for quantity, a horizontal slash across the shoulder blades while swinging right to left, then a diagonal downward slash from the end of the first attack down across his back. Like a backward number seven if both swings managed to find their target.

Grating came from yet another door to the arena as the rusting mechanism to raise the door. Xander had been anticipating the arrival of a fourth combatant because of the white square that had been seemingly ignored as the purposed starting area, and while the addition of a fourth had been delayed, it wasn't as if the combat had been going on too long. Perhaps the guards working that gate were new and incompetent. But there seemed to be no fourth member arriving anyway. His eyes kept scanning the area before darting back to his opponent thinking that perhaps some ranger was sitting by the gate and taking aim, but there was no such figure. Perhaps those guards were so worthless that they were getting slain by the person they had just tried to release into the area. That'd almost be funny enough to call a time out so he could go and watch and laugh at their mistake.

No sooner had he given up searching for the fourth opponent did she reveal herself behind Boreas. He thought he recognised her immediatlely, though his lack of interactions with Sylvaan in general made him question the idea of them all generally looking similar. Still, her coming out of seemingly nowhere was a bit alarming. He knew her able to take on the form of a panda, so was this a different animal trick? Something that wasn't noticable, or something really small? Or perhaps she had learned magical stealth. He had thought this a possibility from another combatant before and turned out wrong, so he was willing to bet on the first one.

He had wanted to warn Boreas of the approaching attack, but his mind stayed frozen too long from seeing Nuncia seemingly materialize out of thin air. He would have to handle the attack without aid. Seeing as how quick he was on his feet, perhaps he would actually be okay. Much better him than I though, I don't think I'd be able to respond with anything beyond bleeding more. He backed up a bit from the other three, hoping to have enough space to apply pressure to his annoyingly placed wound. He could feel it with every step or movement of his leg. If left to bleed out itself, though it wasn't a horrible torrent of blood, the result could easily take his edge away, something he would likely need to win a free-for-all.